


Stars

by Newtgitsune



Series: Universes [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: 250, Angst, Canon Compliant, I'm Sorry, M/M, Newt's Letter, No actual relationships though, Panic Attacks, Sorry Not Sorry, Stars, The Death Cure, The Flare, Veins, crank!newt, implied Newt/Thomas, no i'm not, poor Newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 20:37:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14679042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtgitsune/pseuds/Newtgitsune
Summary: Newt had always loved the stars.Alternative title: The Flare.





	Stars

For the third time that day, Newt’s right wrist itched.

It wasn’t the usual _scratch-and-it’s-gone-_ itch. This felt deeper. As if a bug had managed to crawl under Newt’s skin and lay eggs, and its entire family was now scuttering through his veins. It would appear out of nowhere and last a while, until it disappeared as suddenly as it had come. It was driving him insane.

 

Newt excused himself, muttering something about a bathroom to Thomas as he left the room they used as a bedroom. It wasn’t the most comfortable place- makeshift mattresses were strewn around seemingly at random, with thin, tattered blankets to protect them from the cold winds that ripped through the draughty building. No one complained. They’d managed just fine with less.

 

He stepped outside and turned a corner, his thoughts somewhere far behind him. The itching had started to occur the day after they’d been attacked by the horde of Cranks, in the tunnel. If it hadn’t been for Brenda and Jorge, they’d surely be dead by now. Newt should thank them for that someday.

 

He rounded another corner. Straight. Left. Right. Another right. He barely even payed attention to where he was going. He’d ran through the Maze day after day- finding his way back here was a piece of cake. Newt sped up, a twinge in his ankle, he pushed it away, just needed to find somewhere to be _alone_.

 

Newt didn’t know why he was so nervous about this. It was just an itch. He’d experienced a bloody itch before. He stepped into a nearly dark room, a single beam of light breaking the gloom as it shot through a broken window on the left wall. Newt stepped into the light.

 

He pulled his sleeve up.

 

And immediately pulled it back down.

 

He couldn’t breathe. His lungs seemed to have forgotten how to work, he felt as if he was drowning, throat full of water but _so dry,_ his vision dark at the edges, _his goddamn arm_ itched, the bugs trying to break free from under his skin _,_ his knees nearly cracked as they hit the concrete floor, pain shooting up his legs, he shuffled towards the wall, leaning against it, pulling his knees close to his chest, trying to _breathe._

He clenched his jaw and breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, first in fast, short puffs, the water slowly draining from his lungs and filling up with air again. Newt gasped, his eyes squeezed shut, his left hand clamped around his wrist. Breathe.

 

Slowly, carefully, he reopened them. One first, then the other. His vision was blurred. Was he crying? Probably.

With trembling fingers and shaky breaths, he moved his hand up along his arm, the fabric of his shirt coming along with it. Slowly exposing the skin under it, red and irritated from all the scratching.

 

Dark veins were spread out over his wrist, up his arm, his blackened blood visibly running through it. They pumped along with the beat of his heart, standing out against his pale skin. So, no bugs. A disease.

 

Newt choked back a sob and he curled up against the wall, pulling his wrist to his chest, sheltering it from this awful world. This was unfair. So _fucking unfair._ He’d come so far. He’d survived the Maze, the Scorch. They’d escaped from WICKED. And for what? For him to turn into one of _them_?

 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to rescue Minho. Get back to the boat, escape. Get to a safe haven and live out the rest of their days in peace. They were supposed to have a happy ending.

 

Instead, he got the Flare.

 

Newt took another deep breath and eyed the pulsing veins. He would control himself. He’d keep quiet, keep his head down, keep breathing. Wouldn’t let anyone know. For as long as was necessary.

For as long as he could.

 

 ***

His fingers drummed on the table, the empty paper in front of him seemingly glaring at him.

Newt had to do this. It was the only thing he could do. He needed Thomas to remember him as himself, not as a monster.

 

_Dear Thomas,_

_This is the first letter that I can remember writing. Obviously, I don’t know if I wrote any before the Maze. But, even if it’s not my first, it’s likely to be my last._

Newt took a deep breath, throwing the pen down and hiding his face in his hands. He had to give Thomas hope. Needed him to know that he was okay with not being there any longer, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

 

He picked up the pen again.

 

 _I want you to know that I’m not scared. Well, not of dying, anyway._ Thomas knew that.

_It’s more forgetting. It’s losing myself to this virus, that’s what scares me._

He didn’t want to forget. The good, the bad, the absolutely terrible. All of it. He needed to remember. He needed to remember Thomas, and he needed Thomas to remember him.

 

_So every night I’ve been saying their names out loud. Alby, Winston, Chuck._

He repeated the names as he wrote them down, his throat tightening as he remembered his friends.

 

 _And I repeat them over and over like a prayer and it all comes flooding back._ _Just the little things like when the sun used to hit the Glade at that perfect moment right before it slipped beneath the walls._

He paused for a moment, staring down at the paper. He bit down on his lower lip, the scenery of the Glade appearing in his mind’s eye. A shaky breath along with a single tear slipped out, and he wiped the back of his arm across his cheek, the moisture seeping into the fabric of his sleeve.

_And I remember the taste of Frypan's stew. I never thought I'd miss that stuff so much._

_And I remember you._

_I remember the first time you came up in the Box, just a scared little Greenie who couldn't even remember his own name._

And he did. He remembered Thomas. He remembered him, his voice, his laugh. He remembered his speeches, his wild gestures, the way he ran with his limbs all over the place. Newt let out a soft chuckle, accompanied by a sniff.

He remembered how Thomas made him feel. The immediate trust that came with his presence. The way his hope had been completely burned out for the past three years and Thomas had managed to let it burn again. Thomas was his anchor, keeping him in place in the horrendous storm that was their life. He was his fire, his life. His star.

Newt had always loved the stars.

_From that moment you ran into the Maze, I knew I would follow you anywhere. And I have. We all have._

_If I could do it all over again, I would. And I wouldn't change a thing._

_My hope for you is when you're looking back, years from now, you'll be able to say the same._

_The future is in your hands now, Tommy. And I know you'll find a way to do what's right. You always have._

_Take care of everyone for me. And take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy._

_Thank you for being my friend._

Thank you for giving me hope. For being by my side. Thank you for not giving up, no matter how hard things have gotten. Thank you.

_Goodbye, mate._

_Newt._

Newt stared at the letter, putting down his pen. He let out a shaky sigh, his left thumb running over his right wrist, feeling the bumps of the veins under his skin. He shouldn’t be here, writing this. He should be at the safe haven, with Thomas. With Minho. With Alby, Winston, Chuck. But he wouldn’t be. This was the only way he could let Thomas know that it was okay, even if it wasn’t. He would be okay, and he hoped Thomas would be, too.

 

That’s the least he deserved.

 

***

_“Don’t lie to me!”_

 Newt’s eyes cleared themselves of the haze that previously clouded them. He had pinned Thomas to the wall in anger, and he felt his heart racing, his blood running cold. He released his tight grip on Thomas’s jacket, staring into his wide eyes. “I’m sorry,” he managed to utter, his throat feeling right like a fist was clenched around it. Newt glanced over his shoulder at the others, who were all staring at him disbelievingly. “Sorry,” he repeated once again, taking a step back, his fingers unconsciously grasping at his wrist.  
  
He had to go.  
  
Newt turned his head down and moved outside, sitting down on a ledge. Footsteps came uo behind him. He now looked up, the city wall on the horizon, and above that a clear, blue sky.  
  
Newt had always loved the stars.

 

Stars made him feel at ease. Laying down on the ground under a dark night sky, the white, glowing stars above him- that was when he felt peaceful. Knowing that there was more out there, a world bigger than himself. There was more than the Glade, more than the Maze, more than the Scorch. It calmed him.

He’d imagined he would tell his story to Thomas. Someday, somewhere, but always at night, under the stars.

Newt squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight and he glanced over his shoulder at the figure sitting beside him, only a few feet away. His eyes flicked from mole to mole, connecting them, creating constellations on his skin.

Those were another set of stars he loved.

 

“Did I ever tell you about when I broke my leg?”

 

Even though it was daytime, telling him felt _right_. And so Newt did.

He told him everything. How lost he’d felt, how desperate he’d been, and how he’d found the tallest wall he could and had jumped right off. How he owed his life to Minho, and how he was their priority, no matter what.

 

And that included himself.

  
“I guess I can’t hide this anymore.”

 

Newt pulled up his sleeve, exposing his infected wrist. No matter how many times he’d seen the veins, it still looked _wrong._ He clenched his jaw, the muscle twitching, his eyes glued to his arm, the sickly pale skin almost translucent in the sunlight, the black veins bulging up from under, reminding him of the vines he’d climbed in the Maze, the blood moving underneath reminiscent of the beetle blades scuttering in between the overgrowth.

 

Thomas spoke. Newt barely heard him. He nodded ever so slightly, knowing that the words were probably meant as a comfort, to give him hope. Newt knew it was false. But he’d hold on, for now. For as long as he needed to.

 

For Thomas.

 

***   
  
His body hit the water and he felt like all his bones shattered at the impact.  
The air was pushed out of his lungs, bubbles of his breath mixing with the air pockets his crash had created.  
Something grabbed his shoulder. A hand. He was pulled up out of the water, the feeling of his head breaking the surface, the feeling of oxygen flooding into his lungs a relief he’d never thought he’d feel again.

It wasn’t as relieving as it should have been, though. His lungs seemed to have forgotten how to work properly since they’d entered the WICKED compound. He constantly felt like he was being smothered, inhaling smoke, every breath laced with tiny shards of glass ripping his throat to shreds.

 

Newt clambered onto dry ground with the help of Minho and Thomas. His knees buckled under him and he hit the ground, laying back and resting his back against the edge that seperated the street from the pond. He barely registered the weapons that were pointed at them, but the sound of the gunshots seemed to tear his brain apart.

 

Then they were moving again.

 

He leaned on his friends, having lost almost all control of his bad leg. Every time he tried to use it, pain flared up his leg, centred around the breaking points, and he had to bite back a whimper every time it happened- he’d given up on using it.

 

He’d given up in general.

 

A sudden light-headedness took over and he almost fainted, the strength he had left seeping away and he fell to the floor, accompanied by a far-away scream. His head fell back, his eyes turned up at the darkened sky. He hadn’t seen any stars yet _. Light pollution,_ his mind supplied, although he had no idea where it came from. However, right now a bright, white light shone above him, moving, a loud noise filling his ears as it did. It didn’t look like any star he’d ever seen.

 

Newt had always loved the stars.

 

He managed to lift his head again, saw figures moving through his blurry vision, and his hand shot forward, latching onto Minho’s arm with an iron grip.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He knew what Minho was off to do. And he needed Minho to understand that he wasn’t just thanking him for this. He tightened his grip even more, nodding a little bit. “Thank you,” he repeated.

 

He got a response, although he didn’t quite hear the words. And then they were gone.

 

Newt’s eyes followed them, feeling a sharp pang in his heart. They were gone.

 

And so was he.

 

“Newt!”  


Newt suddenly snapped back to reality, focusing on Thomas’s face in front of him.

“Newt, we have to go.”

His hand shot up to his neck, taking a hold of the necklace and giving it a quick pull, the rope he’d used to tie it around his neck snapping as he did so. He held it out in front of him, ordering Thomas to take him, anger surging through him when he refused to.

 

“Just take it!” he shouted, his voice paining his throat as the words tore through it.

 

“Please, Tommy. _Please._ ”

 

The necklace was taken from Newt’s outstretched hand, and then he was being lifted, being dragged along, across the street.

 

Newt could feel himself slipping away, both mentally and physically. He clung onto Thomas with all his might- which wasn’t a lot. His hands were slipping, his feet trailing behind him over the pavement, his head heavy on his shoulders, vision getting darker, until there was nothing.

 

Glass breaking.

The floor felt hard beneath him.

 

A familiar voice boomed through the streets, and anger surged through his blood, renewing his lost strength. His muscled tensed, and he pushed himself up, getting to his feet, and it _terrified_ him.

 

Newt turned around to see Thomas. His friend. _Not your friend,_ his mind told him, and he pushed the thought away, but it pushed back, breaking through his barriers, all other thoughts stuffed to the back of his head, taking over his mind. _Not your friend. Your enemy._

 

A scream ripped from his throat and his body charged forward, his mind tried to hold him back. The Flare attacked his friend, who managed to dodge him, and he fell to the ground, his knees hitting the concrete with a painful snap. He jumped back to his feet, lunging at the other once more, now actually hitting his target. They fell to the ground together, but he was quickly pushed off, landing on his hands and feet with a gasp.

 

Newt’s head snapped up, his breath coming in short, raspy puffs. “Tommy,” he managed, breaking through the Flare for a moment, “Kill me!”

 

Thomas came closer, dropping to his knees, speaking to him, but his brain blocked out the words, distorting his vision, the figure in front of him nothing but a blur.  
  
Newt knew who it was. Newt knew what he was supposed to do, but something else had ripped the reins out of his hands, forcing his body up and barrelling him into the blur, throwing him down once more. His jaws snapped at the figure, and his fists tried to beat down on it, but strong arms prevented him from doing so.

 

Newt yanked at the reins, taking them back into his trembling hands. He loosened his grip, panting, staring at Thomas with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, Tommy,” he breathed, something metal pressing against his leg.

 

The gun.  


Newt’s right arm shot towards his left leg, pulling the gun out of its holster. He cocked it and pressed it against his temple, his index finger shaking on the trigger.  


This was it.  
  
Newt took a deep breath and squeezed, but he never managed to pull the trigger. The gun had been shoved out of his hand and he looked to the side, where it was, shining in the faint moonlight.

 

The reins were gone.

 

He whipped back towards the figure beneath him, another scream tearing his throat apart. Then he was rolling on the floor, and something sharp pricked against his tailbone.

He stilled, steadying himself onto his hands and feet, reaching back, pulling the knife out of its sheath.

 

Before he could even look, he slashed it towards the figure him, aiming for the neck, just barely missing. On his knees, he thrust the knife up in the air, then bringing it back down again with all his force, red blooming through the fabric covering up the figure’s skin. He pressed on, the Flare revelling in the pained scream coming from the figure.

 

Pain shot through his jaw, and he lost his balance, another fist striking his cheek right after the first, he hit the ground, his right hand still clutching the knife.

 

To his feet.

 

The knife ripped through the air, each time missing the flesh, closing in on him, latching onto his shoulder, thrusting the knife up.

 

He wasn’t sure if the knife had hit home until a sharp pain spread through his chest.

 

Newt stumbled backwards. He looked down. Then up.

 

So many words had been left unsaid.

_Thank you, Thomas._

_Thomas, I’m sorry._

_Tommy, I’ll miss you._

_Tommy, I love you._

 

“Tommy…”

 

Newt’s knees gave out and he fell back, facing up. The last thing he saw was the night sky, white pinpricks littering the infinite darkness, until it was covered up by a polar opposite, pale skin with dark stars scattered over it.

 

Newt had always loved the stars.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry?
> 
> I had this idea when I was feeling a little down and it manifested into this monstrosity. Started as a vent, now it's a fucking mONster what am I DOING
> 
> So, a little info on what I tried to do:
> 
> Some sentences are long, with short little words, and a lot of commas, to make it look, very frantic, and panicky, and I hoped it worked
> 
> At the end when Newt and Thomas are fighting- I used 'Newt' when he actually had control, and 'he' or 'the Flare' when he didn't. It's like two seperate characters. 
> 
> Also, in the beginning, the Flare feels like little bugs under his skin, while in the end, he's fighting to keep control over the 'reins'. The Flare has grown and is almost bigger than himself. 
> 
> I've seen so many people talk about Thomas's moles like they're stars, and Newt seemed like a night owl to me- someone who is only truly at peace under the stars. Since it fits with his love for Thomas, I decided to make it a theme.
> 
> This hurt.
> 
> (Feedback is always appreciated- kudos, comments, constructive critisism- I love it all! Thank you for reading this!!)


End file.
